


Purpose

by boxoftheskyking



Category: Snowpiercer (2013)
Genre: Awareness of narrative, Mentions of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 02:59:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1924194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxoftheskyking/pseuds/boxoftheskyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’m going to die for you. Been preparing for it my whole fucking life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purpose

"Where are you in all these plans?" Curtis asks, amused. Edgar’s been talking for almost an hour now as they repair Old Mia’s sagging bunk, rambling mostly. He makes up for a lack of experience in battle planning by talking through every imaginable scenario, skinny sixteen year old fingers dancing over the cords of Mia’s pallet as he talks. "Gilliam and Grey and I end up at the front and what about you?"

"Or Tanya. She could run things. Better than you, maybe."

"Right, or Tanya, or Ilya, or everyone else. What about you? You always stop mentioning yourself halfway through. Gonna sit back and let us do all the work, is what’s gonna happen?"

Edgar goes quiet, looks oddly shy.

"What is it?" Curtis isn’t used to pushing, not with him. He has to hold down a shiver but doesn’t quite know why.

"Won’t be there, will I?"

"What do you mean?"

Edgar thinks a moment, bites at his lip. “I mean I’m not going to make it there, am I? That’s not what I’m here for.”

"What?"

"Every time I imagine it, or dream it, I’m - I can’t. I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine myself anywhere."

Curtis huffs and turns back to his work. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

"I’m not. It isn’t ridiculous. It’s what I’m here for."

"What does that mean, ‘here for’? What is that supposed to mean?"

"I’m going to die for you. Been preparing for it my whole fucking life."

Curtis stops working and turns on him, angry.

"What do you want? Huh? What are you saying this for?"

"You asked." Edgar holds out a hand. "Wrench."

"How long have - Why are you saying this?"

Edgar tightens down the bolts, bracing the metal bar against his back. “I’ve always known it, I think.” He grimaces as he fights with the rusty bolt. “It’s why I was born. I was thinking of asking your permission, but I don’t think it’s up to you.”

"You’re being an idiot."

"Why else was I born? Here, take the - yeah, and I’ll -"

There’s a terrible screech of metal as they shove the bunk row back into place.

"What is this, Edgar?"

"It’s a bunk, Curtis."

"I mean what’s got you all … like this?"

"You fucking asked!" He’s irritated now.

"I didn’t know you were fucking suicidal!"

"I’m not! I’m - I just know my purpose is all. It’s a good thing. It’s a good thing."

"It’s fucking ridiculous. That’s not your purpose. You don’t have a purpose."

"Then why was I born, huh?"

"To be a person. I don’t know. To have a life and think things. Why is anyone born?"

"Andrew said I wasn’t even supposed to make it, as a baby." Edgar bends down to gather Mia’s blankets, arranging them back on the bunk. "Said I was all sickly. Small. Wasn’t supposed to last the first year, I was so - "

"Who fucking said that?" His grip on Edgar’s arm is bruising, suddenly, eyes like ice. Edgar stills beside him and his face turns cautious.

"Andrew. He was just talking about when - "

"It’s not true. Don’t listen to him, that’s not true."

"Okay … I don’t -"

"It isn’t true." Curtis looks him in the eye holds him still until he winces and nods. "Don’t listen to him. You’re - Just, don’t ever think that." Curtis lets him go and turns away, rubbing at his eyes.

"Curtis," he says, finally, very very carefully like he’s stacking one word on top of the other. "Were you my dad?"

It might as well be a punch in the gut, and Curtis takes it like any other blow - silent, tense, sucking in air.

"Why would you ask that?" 

Edgar shrugs.

"Why past tense? Why would you ask that in the past tense?"

Edgar shrugs again, lost.

Curtis gapes, shakes his head, pushes past him and away.

"I’m not - " Edgar starts to call after him, but gives up, kicks at the bunk in front of him. "I’m not trying - "

Later that night, he stares up at the bottom of Curtis’ bunk. He knows he’s not asleep - he knows every breath, how he sounds awake, asleep, sick, afraid, amused, angry. He doesn’t sound angry now.

"Curtis?" He murmurs, not quite committing to the word.

"What is it, Edgar?" The reply rumbles down to him, and he smiles.

"I didn’t mean to make you angry."

“‘m not angry.”

"All right." There’s a moment of silence, weighted. "I’ll be so good at it, Curtis."

"What?"

"I’ll be so fucking good at it. I can feel it."

"Edgar - "

"Just say okay. Just say okay, come on."

Curtis is silent for a long, long time. “You might outlive me, you know. Or maybe we’ll all be dead by next week.”

"Eh, maybe."

Curtis huffs a sketch of a laugh. “Never thought you’d be the one with faith.”

"It’s not faith. It’s knowing. Just like I know I’m on a train."

"Hmm."

"I’ll be so good. I’ll be perfect. The rage I’ll give you, man, the fucking  _rage._ They won’t be able to touch you.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You think too much, you know that?"

Edgar punches the bunk above him. 

"Hey," Curtis says after a minute. "You want to come up here?"

"What, like to chase the engine?"

"Wh - No. No! No, not to - that.  I just mean - "

"I’m fucking with you, Curtis."

"Fuck off and go to sleep."

"Thought you wanted - "

"Changed my mind."

Edgar laughs at him. “Alright, old man.”

He pulls his coat around him, not for warmth but for the feeling of something tight around his chest. 

"Hey Curtis?"

"Go to sleep, Edgar."

"Yeah, okay."

He doesn’t, though, not for a long time. He imagines bleeding out, and he smiles.


End file.
